Walter Red Books Ritual Production Company

Division of Walter Red Books LLC

Who We Are

The Ritual Production Company is the dedicated media branch of Walter Red Books LLC.

Here, the collected films and video works are housed in their reliquary—a portfolio of ritual documents and visual testimonies, bridging the written word with the moving image.

What We Do

  • Preserve: Archive all Walter Red video works in one reliquary.

  • Produce: Create original ritual films and audiovisual relics.

  • Present: Provide access through curated lightboxes and embedded links.

Reliquary Portfolio

RED-WINDOW-1

PLEASE REFERENCE INVESTIGATIVE CASE FILE NO. 01 FOR FURTHER INFORMATION

Yellowfield: Origins

A six-minute short history file. Ritual ground. Hooded figures. Interrupted broadcast. Ending with one message: Do not return unchanged.

愁いの地図職人愛と喪失を生き抜く術

What is a grief cartographer? Someone who gives shape to loss. They chart the valleys where sorrow pools, the storms that arrive without warning, and the lanterns that light the way forward. This spoken word short is not about erasing grief—it’s about making it navigable. So when the fog feels endless, you can look at the map, see where you stand, and know you can keep walking.

哀悼を編む者の祝福

The Grief Cartographer began as an invocation—a call to map sorrow, to trace the outlines of loss without turning away. Benediction for the Grief Cartographer answers as its flipside: not a farewell, but a candle left burning, a memorial thread carried forward.

The Gospel According to Desire

A hymn for desire. A confession in three acts. The search. The hunt. The journey. For every saint named in candlelight, this is their procession. A trilogy of longing, devotion, and revelation brought together at last. The Search — where the ache began. The Hunt — where obsession bled into power. The Journey — where the truth was finally spoken. The saints are remembered. The light keeps breaking through.

The Basilica's Breath - An Invocation

“Prayers that never found a god to catch them.” This is not promotion. This is invocation. The Basilica exhales, and we listen.

The Lantern by the Shore

There is a shoreline beyond maps, where the waves fold like black glass and memory lingers in the flame of an old lantern. Each night, a whisper is given to the tide—sometimes lost, sometimes carried back like a hymn. One phrase endures: “And still, you rise.”

And Still You Rise — Black Glass Tide [RECOVERED: Tape Dump v0.1 → Forensic v0.2]

A recovered, partially restored recording presented as an artifact. This file has been through an initial forensic pass (v0.2). Some spectral ghosts and distortions remain — full restoration estimated to take weeks. Evidence code: BGT-GP7N5

480 VERSION

1080 VERSION

Tales from the Hollow Basilica

UPCOMING SHORT FILM RELEASE TBD

The Lantern Table

The Lantern Table was built for memory—for the ones we once sat with, for the words left unsaid. A flame set down, a table that waits, a ritual made visible.

The Black Prologue

Five invocations. A gospel. A confession. A prayer. A benediction. A fifth mouth. The Black Prologue.

DEATH SONGS: REQUIEM FOR THE FIRST CUT

Ten years after the first manuscript was whispered into existence, Death Songs returns in its final form — a requiem for the book that refused to stay buried. Shot like a wake and scored like a heartbeat, the short stands as a memorial to the boy who began the myth and the author who learned to survive it. Between candlelight and confession, Requiem for the First Cut bridges poetry, cinema, and ritual performance — a closing benediction for the opening decade of Walter Red Books.

Legal

From The Archivist

All films, video works, and audiovisual relics featured on this page are the sole property of Walter Red Books Ritual Production Company, a division of Walter Red Books LLC. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or re-uploading of these works without prior written consent is strictly prohibited. Any infringement will be pursued in accordance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) and applicable intellectual property laws.

For inquiries regarding permissions or usage, please contact: wrbooksproduction@gmail.com.

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THE BLACK BOOK

What Is “The Black Book”?

It is a toolkit to write the unspeakable, the unprintable, the part of grief that never asks for beauty.

Do not open unless you are ready to bury something alive.

[PASSWORD: GHOSTORCHARD

(DO NOT LOSE PASSWORD)

Mac/OS - DMG
Windows - ISO

[Note: All Files are Secure & Safe to Download]

A house of stone; a mouth of light.

The Cathedral of St. Alwyn — Keeper of Thresholds

Raised where the hills soften into prayer, the Cathedral of St. Alwyn was not only built—it was listened into being. Every arch repeats a silence the land already knew. The nave shelters breath. The transepts point like compass arms toward roads we have yet to travel. And the rose window—ember at the heart—reminds us that light is a circle we walk inside of, even when we think we’re outside in the dark.

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BELLTOWER WING CLOSED

ST. ALWYN’S BELL TOWER REDUCED TO ASHES
Lightning Strike Shatters Belfry; Historic Bronze Bell Destroyed

St. Alwyn, February 21, 1894 — In the small hours of Tuesday morning, a sudden and violent storm beset our town, bringing with it a dreadful calamity to the beloved Cathedral of St. Alwyn. At approximately 2:17 a.m., a bolt of lightning struck the bell tower’s spire, setting the upper timbers aflame.

Witnesses report that the fire spread with unnatural haste, casting an orange glow across the square. Parishioners and townsfolk alike formed a bucket line, yet their efforts proved in vain as the blaze consumed the belfry. With a terrible groan, the great bronze bell—cast in 1748 and rung at every hour for nearly a century and a half—fell through the burning floors, shattering upon the flagstones of the nave below.

No lives were lost, though two were treated for smoke inhalation. The Reverend Elias Gray has declared the tower a total loss, and questions linger as to whether it will ever be rebuilt. Some whisper that the strike was no mere act of nature, but a sign to be heeded.

Public Notices & Documents

Updated Whenever We Get To It

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Archival Records: Cathedral of St. Alwyn

Erected in the waning years of the Third Winter, the Cathedral of St. Alwyn rose upon the foundations
of a smaller stone chapel lost to fire. The first bell, cast from the salvaged iron of the town’s fallen gates,
rang only seven years before the great collapse of the western tower.

In local memory, St. Alwyn is less a saint of miracle than of burden — a keeper of watch during the long
famine, whose prayers were said to hold back the Hollow. When the famine lifted, the villagers carved
his likeness into the lintel above the nave, face weathered and eyes downcast, so that all who entered
would remember the cost of survival.

Even in ruin, the Cathedral stands as both sanctuary and sepulchre. The stones bear smoke-blackened scars,
and the nave floor is marked with the pale outlines where pews were once bolted. At vespers, when the wind
shifts just right, it is said the echo of that first bell can still be heard, carrying over the fields —
a reminder that some vigils are never truly ended.

Archival Blueprints

Architectural plan of the Cathedral of St. Alwyn, drafted in the late 18th century. This design reflects the officially recognized structure following the Basilica’s redaction from civic memory. Sections such as the nave, choir, and twin towers are recorded in meticulous symmetry, intended for public distribution and parish records.

Field Guide Summary:

Beyond the last wildflowers, the ground dips into a shadowed swale locals call the Hollow Verge.

Air currents here are erratic—sometimes warm, sometimes freezing, even in summer.

For those trained to notice, the Verge is less a boundary and more a membrane: step through, and the field behind you may not be the same field at all.

The Hollow Verge

The air folds over itself here. Step one pace forward, you’re still in the field. Another pace, and the sky feels different — thinner, heavier, both. I never trust my own shadow when I cross this place. Sometimes it lingers when I do not.

Field Guide Summary:

This crumbling shell of stone arches and fractured nave has been a point of fascination since the earliest 1973 notes.

On hot afternoons, a low resonance can be felt through the walls, as though a hidden swarm still nests within.

Traces of wax, char, and pollen collect in the cracks, defying any simple explanation.

The Yellow Hive

If you put your hand against the stone at noon, you’ll feel the hum. It is not wind, nor insects, nor echo. Some call it memory, others an after-swarm. I call it a heartbeat that refuses to die, even when the body is dust.

Field Guide Summary:

A fringe of wild fruit trees and unkempt hedgerows marks the unofficial border of Yellowfield.

Here, petals fall on packed earth, masking faint sigil impressions and shallow caches.

The orchard’s seasonal bloom is said to disguise entrances to smaller, forgotten paths—some leading back toward the Cathedral, others dissolving into the open plain.

The Orchard Perimeter

Beneath the blossoms, something always waits. Not hostile, not kind — just waiting. A sigil pressed into the soil loses meaning until the wind clears the petals away, and then you realize it was never meant for you in the first place.

Field Guide Summary:

Perched atop a gradual incline, the Mausoleum is a lone sentinel in stone, weathered by centuries of wind.

Inside, its alcoves hold empty reliquaries and deep-carved names, many struck through or re-chiseled.

Field records suggest its hilltop location was once used as a signal point—fires and lanterns flashing to unseen allies across the valley.

The Mausoleum Rise

The hill remembers fire. Lanterns once flared here, and I swear sometimes a distant answering flame still flickers back across the valley. No one speaks of who those signals were for — or whether the watchers ever came down from their post.